


Retrograde

by SuperWhoLockianFangirl



Series: Conversations with a Cannibal [9]
Category: Criminal Minds, Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hannibal Being Hannibal, Slightly creepy Hannibal, Talk of mental illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:13:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperWhoLockianFangirl/pseuds/SuperWhoLockianFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal opens up a bit to Spencer, but only in exchange for Spencer telling him about his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Retrograde

**Author's Note:**

> I just really wanted Hannibal to say "Tell me about your mother," ... And so this happened.

“Tell me about your mother,” Hannibal said without any preamble. He watched as Spencer’s face went a bit pale for a moment before settling into a mask of shock and surprise. The young man sat forward with a raised brow and Hannibal had to commend him for controlling his outward expressions better than he had before. He’d grown used to Hannibal’s prodding.

“Tell me about yours,” he said, “Since you apparently forgot that we were talking about _you_ again.”

“Sarcasm really doesn’t suit you, Spencer,” Hannibal noted, his eyes lit with amusement.

“I’d be less inclined to be sarcastic if you would remember that I’m here to discuss your crimes, Dr. Lecter,” the retort came quickly. Spencer was definitely learning.

Hannibal sighed, “Is your mother a touchy subject then? I know you aren’t fond of your father; I assumed your feelings toward your mother would be different. Was I wrong?”

Spencer’s eyes narrowed a bit, calculating. Hannibal remained silent as he watched him, enjoying watching the thoughts wind through his quick mind. He was remarkably adept at putting things together at speeds that were astonishing.

“I’ll tell you about my mother if you answer my question,” he said finally. Hannibal grinned.

“An exchange then?” he said, “Perhaps… What question?”

“How many people have you killed?” Spencer asked immediately. The FBI had a body count, of course, but they were almost certain that it was inaccurate. A man like Hannibal Lecter, who killed with such proclivity, had to have more than fifteen victims that they associated with the Ripper.

Hannibal’s eyes sparkled, “Quite a few, Spencer. More than I can remember accurately. Over the years they’ve begun to blur a bit. Most were unimportant.”

“You have to have some estimate, Doctor,” Spencer said, “Don’t you think the victim’s families at least deserve closure?”

“I doubt they’d find comfort in knowing their family member was eaten, don’t you agree, Spencer?”

Spencer’s face twisted into that annoyed frown that Hannibal found so amusing. He really did have some of the most interesting facial expressions.

“About your mother?” Hannibal prompted. Spencer pursed his lips and seemed to debate answering.

“I love my mother,” he said simply.

“And?”

“And you aren’t getting a more elaborate answer until you give me one,”

Hannibal frowned, “You’re being very stubborn, Spencer,”

“I’m here to find out about you, Doctor,” he reminded him, “Not the other way around.”

Hannibal sighed, “Fine,” he said, “I do not have an accurate count, Spencer, but I can tell you that there are several identities under which I have killed. Not just in the United States, but all over the world. Most predominantly in Europe.”

Spencer’s eyes flashed with something and Hannibal could see his mind working, putting the information into the profile they already had of him. It was interesting to watch it happening.

“How old were you when you began killing?”

“That’s two questions, Spencer,” Hannibal chided, shaking his head.

Spencer sighed, but nodded slowly. He spoke reluctantly, as if every word were being forced out of him against his better judgment. If he hadn’t become numb to the screaming sense of self-preservation in the back of his mind, he wouldn’t have said anything.

“My mother raised me on her own from the time I was ten,”

“And?” Hannibal prompted.

“And…” Spencer closed his eyes, “And she’s a paranoid schizophrenic.”

Hannibal’s eyes lit up and Spencer stared at him blankly, his face carefully cold. There was something like fear peaking from behind his hazel eyes, but it was more unreadable than it had been before.

Pieces of the puzzle that was Spencer Reid were finally starting to fall into place as Hannibal tucked the information away much like Spencer had his.

“Do you fear mental illness, Spencer?”

“That’s two questions, Doctor,” Spencer was quick to remind him. Hannibal took that as yes.

“Very well,” he said, “Was there another question you wanted me to answer?”

“There are a lot of questions I want you to answer, Dr. Lecter. You know as well as I do the FBI doesn’t know very much about you.”

“I prefer to remain an enigma. It certain drives Chilton to extremely amusing lengths attempting to understand me.”

“Have you ever let anyone in?” Spencer asked, slowly. As if he were choosing his words carefully. “Let anyone see past that mask you wear?”

“Who says it’s a mask?”

“So you’ve always been like this then?”

“Like what?”

“A killer,”

Hannibal pursed his lips, noting that Spencer, unlike many others, chose to identify him as a killer rather than a monster. He felt it was an important distinction.

“No, I suppose I haven’t,” he answered.

Spencer frowned, “Then what drove you to kill? You couldn’t have just woken up one day and decided to butcher someone.”

Hannibal thought about that, considering his words as carefully as Spencer had. He never liked to reveal much of himself and just as he had with Will, he preferred half-answers and vague truths to complete honesty.

“Everyone has trauma somewhere in their pasts, Spencer. It is a part of being human, I suppose. ‘Sometimes, human place create inhuman monsters,’”

“You’re going to quote Stephen King, Dr. Lecter? Really?”

“It seemed appropriate,” Hannibal smiled, having expected Spencer to catch the quote.

“What about your past was so traumatic that you began killing?”

“I believe I’ve already answered two questions, Spencer,” Hannibal reminded him. “It’s my turn.”

“What do you want to know?” Spencer sighed, but decided to remain fair. Hannibal was at least talking to him, which was exactly what he wanted. He didn’t see the harm in divulging information. He would one day, but it would be too late then.

“Your mother, when was she diagnosed with her mental illness?”

“Before I was born,” Spencer answered quickly, “Next question.”

Hannibal smiled a bit at his abrupt manner. It was a subject he wanted to avoid, clearly. Which only made Hannibal want to poke at it all the more.

“You said your mother raised you from the time you were ten,” he said, “so your father must have been around before then. Why did he leave?”

For just a moment, true hate flashed in Spencer’s eyes and Hannibal wasn’t entirely sure if the hate was directed at him or at Spencer’s father. It vanished just as quickly as it had appeared so he had little time to examine it.

“It was too much for him,” he said. His voice was strangled a bit.

“What was? Your mother’s illness?”

Spencer shrugged, “Everything,” he said, “My mom, me… He said he couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Something must have set him off,” Hannibal said, “What was it?”

Spencer shook his head, “Your turn, Doctor,” he said.

Hannibal sighed, but conceded.

“What happened to you that turned you into a killer?”

Hannibal very nearly scowled, but supposed he had brought this on himself allowing Spencer to ask him questions. Since Spencer had been honest so far, he decided to humor him and be honest as well. To a point.

“My sister was murdered,”

“How?” Spencer’s eyes were lit with eager interest and a flash of sympathy. “By who?”

“It is, as I said, a rather long story, Spencer,” Hannibal said, “And that is two questions. Why did your father leave?”

Spencer’s lips pressed tightly together, “When I was four…” he paused, closed his eyes and started again, “When I was four years old my mother witnessed a murder. She was already having trouble managing her _illness_ and it just made things worse. Everything was strained and my Dad couldn’t _cope_. She only went further downhill over the years and eventually he just left.”

“He left a ten year old alone with a mentally ill mother?”

“I told you,” Spencer’s voice was hard and cold, “he said he couldn’t handle it. I wasn’t like all the other boys my age and he had no idea how to relate to me.”

“So he abandoned you?”

“Yes,” Spencer still sounded angry, his eyes blazing with a strange combination of hurt and hate.

“Does it still bother you?”

“It was a long time ago,”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Spencer,”

“It’s your turn, Dr. Lecter,” Spencer said. His voice was still cold. Hannibal doubted very much he would get anything more out of him. “What happened to your sister?”

Hannibal took a deep breath, staring at Spencer for a long, tense moment.

“I believe that’s a story for another time,” he said slowly, “I can’t tell you everything at once, can I?”

Spencer scowled, “That’s it?”

“It’s more than I’ve ever given you before,”

The young man sighed, nodding slowly. He stood and started to leave before he hesitated and turned back, meeting Hannibal’s eyes for a moment. He chewed his lower lip and looked uncertain for a moment.

“Thank you,” he said, “…for answering my questions.”

Hannibal smiled brightly at him, inclining his head in acceptance. “Thank you, Spencer,” he said, “for answering mine.”

* * *

**-end-**  


**Author's Note:**

> As always, all mistakes are my own. Any thoughts or critiques are welcome!
> 
> I have the next few installments of this planned and I'm thinking that Will going to turn up soon, which I'm really excited to write.


End file.
